A Story of New York City Redemption
by Shannonlass1
Summary: Crossover fanfictionromance of Newsies and Little Women, involving Jack Kelly and Josephine March. Serendipity, humor, and drama abound.
1. Chapter One

"Jack Kelly  
and  
Josephine March  
in  
The Story of New York City Redemption"  
  
Author's Note: Someone once discussed with me the theory of infinite possibilities: where with every choice you make, you leave behind the possibility of a different fate. For example, if Sleeping Beauty hadn't pricked her finger on the spinning wheel, there could be several different Sleeping Beauties – one that ran away into the woods, one who became a seamstress, and a third that, I don't know, became a transvestite. This is the framework of the story that I have created. Little Women Purists, beware. In this story, I digress upon the question: What if Josephine March hadn't gone to New York City like she did in the book? What if she had never met Frederich Bhaer? If you believe in true love, you would think that in any fate, Jo and Mr. Bhaer would fall in love, and marry. However, realistically speaking, based upon the theory of infinite possibilities, this would not necessarily be the case. My story begins after Laurie and Amy's wedding. All of the characters are of the same fate they receive in the book, except for Jo. Instead of journeying to New York and meeting Mr. Bhaer, she visits Boston, where she becomes a teacher. As for the newsies, the story begins years after the strike. Saying any more would ruin it. I've reconfigured the ages and time periods of the characters for the sake of fiction. Enjoy!  
  
"I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear, Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong, The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam, The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work, The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand  
singing on the steamboat deck, The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands, The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or  
at noon intermission or at sundown, The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of  
the girl sewing or washing, Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else, The day what belongs to the day--at night the party of young fellows,  
robust, friendly, Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs."  
  
"I Hear America Singing" Walt Whitman  
  
"A noiseless patient spider, I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated, Mark'd how to explore the vacant vast surrounding, It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself, Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.  
  
And you O my soul where you stand, Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space, Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them, Till the bridge you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold, Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul."  
  
"A Noiseless Patient Spider" Walt Whitman  
  
The clock in the room Jo was in was now off by three hours. She would look at it and wonder why it said the time was 8:34 if it was still light outside. The clock always got her. Hours ago, she stood on the sidewalk, hands on her hips, overwhelmed by it all, her warm, persistent eyes piercing the sights before her. She was still dressed in her finest- a long, burgundy dress, open two buttons at the neck, with a white scarf and a thin brown muslin wrap- and dragging her stuff with her. Her large hands pushed the hair from her eyes, the tips of her fingers were slightly callused from writing, and her nail biting (one of her many bad habits) had taken its toll. Her features were more specific with age...but she was still cheerful, intense, melodramatic, imaginative Jo, the too-tall girl from Concord, New Hampshire, with armloads of emotional baggage, and an inquisitive eye.  
  
Voices sounded like they came from somewhere far away. She heard the words, but they weren't registering. She awoke in that sluggish state halfway between sleep and consciousness. She shoved the covers off of her, and tentatively peeked out of the door. Her eyes followed the path out of the door down a long hallway, of which there were many others doors and far more voices that echoed. At the end of the hallway, the path veered down into a spiral staircase, which led down, down, down, to somewhere Jo couldn't see. She frantically turned and shut the door as quietly as she could, as she leaned against it.  
  
"Morning sunshine," a voice greeted her from behind. Jo jumped. It was a man, already suited up in his daywear, a cigar in his left hand, and a small, worn, wooden stick in his other.  
  
"Oh! Oh...I...I was just..." she began. Her eyes were as wide as a deer's, and her hair was still frazzled from the night's sleep and lack of care.  
  
"Hmm?" he asked. His gray eyes were amused, and he smirked.  
  
"Oh...well...I was just leaving. Thank you, I think," she said hurriedly, then began skipping down the stairs to where she could almost see the foyer in view.  
  
"Wait a minute," he said, following her. She turned around. "Have a nice sleep?"  
  
"It was decent, thanks," she replied. "How much do I owe you?"  
  
He waved away her question with his hand, the hand that held the cigar. "It's on the house. You can stay here as long as you like, you know. We've got plenty of room," he said. He stepped forward with his athletic, 6'1", lanky and fair-skinned frame. She noticed a cloud of hazel-colored freckles cluttered around his steel gray eyes. "So, what brings you to New York?"  
  
And thus she met the infamous Spot Conlon.  
  
The foyer to the refurbished Newsboys Lodging House (re-done in 1905) was clean and wood-paneled, consisting of a short staircase and an entrance straight ahead to what she assumed was the mess hall and kitchen. To the right were the waiting rooms, furnished simply with wooden chairs, tables, an ashtray, a somewhat decrepit-looking piano, and a half-empty China display.  
  
"Welcome," Spot said, looking back and cracking a grin.  
  
Two men thundered down the first set of stairs into the foyer, skipping the last step to jump off. When they saw Spot they greeted him with swift spitshakes, which Jo thought was altogether gross and fantastic at the same time. The first, Pie Eater, she assumed, was shorter than Spot himself, but not stout in the least. He had smart, ready eyes and a wide mouth and nose. Between his teeth was a thin reed of grass, which he chewed on casually. Atop his short, brown curls was a hat that she recognized on several newsboys in the streets.  
  
"Hey there. Pie Eater" he said levelly, introducing himself, the corner of his mouth twisting into a crooked smile.  
  
"Jo March," she said, regaining lost composure.  
  
The other young man that had come down the stairs had warm, chocolate brown eyes, which he fixed on Jo.  
  
"Hey, nice to meet ya. Boots. How's it rolling?" he said, his eyes serious yet kind.  
  
"Stay as long as you need, we have plenty of room," Pie Eater said, tugging the grass reed out of his mouth.  
  
"Well, I don't want to burden anyone," she said.  
  
"New company? It's never a burden," Pie Eater said.  
  
"So, are all of you newsboys?" she asked. There were a lot of them. Boys, ages five through twenty-five surrounded them, scampering up and down the stairs, as the foyer became crowded.  
  
"Most of us," Pie Eater said. "Some people just need a place to stay. A lot of the older ones are retired newsies, though. They stay here because they've been here so long, but a lot of the times, they have other living options," he explained. "Spot, Boots, and I still sell papes, but we have other jobs, too."  
  
"Factory workers, I presume?" Jo asked, her mood softening.  
  
"Boots and I do factory labor. Pie Eater here, the lucky ass, works in the newspaper room. He does odd jobs, like carting the packages of newspapers to the public distribution apparatus, the newsies, or getting more paper," Spot answered. Jo's eyes glazed with interest.  
  
"Do any of you work on the inside? Investigative stories, journalism, gathering research?" she asked.  
  
"A reporter, Miss March?" Spot asked. Jo's lips twisted into a smile she couldn't conceal.  
  
"A writer, actually," she admitted. "I told a close friend of mine, that if I weren't one- a writer, that is- that I'd come here, to New York, and pursue the stage. Rent isn't bad, but I suppose I'll need to be able to cough up something soon," Jo said. "So, just reviewing my options," she said.  
  
"Someone smart like you will have no problem. They'll definitely want you on the paper," Pie Eater said.  
  
"Sarah and David work for the New York World. They're editors, I think, and they supervise Pulitzer. They've worked there for about a year and a half, two years, so far-"Boots said, just as someone scrambled down the landing.  
  
"Here, we'll get you a room, and then we'll give you the grand tour," he said, face amiable.  
  
"The room I woke up in was fine," Jo answered.  
  
"You sure?" Pie Eater asked.  
  
"I am," Jo said.  
  
"All right. Welcome to the House, Jo," Boots said. 


	2. Chapter Two

The "grand tour" served to wash away the fear and uncertainty of it all, that she'd had ever since she woke up in the strange place. She was still a bit on her guard, but found herself laughing with these freckled, tanned-faces, bright-toothed boys in men's bodies. They guffawed. They swore. They shared spitshakes. And they treated her like one of them.  
  
The House was a comfortable, well lived-in home to nearly two hundred boys. Some lived there permanently; others rented out rooms when they were in financial aid, or in the case of an emergency. Her first facet of the tour had been the attic, a cozy, if dusty, area of the building which consisted of much of the smoking, gambling, wine-drinking, smuggling, and other forms of debauchery present in the House.  
  
"It's the place the area health inspectors never check," a tall, skinny, pale-skinned, and fair-haired young man named Dutchy said, readjusting his vest.  
  
"Guaranteeing us a free place to indulge in life's simple pleasures," piped up another, Racetrack, who was of moderate height. He had sharp, perceptive brown eyes, which were almost black, and brown hair, slicked back away from his face. His face was very chiseled and Grecian, but his features were weathered and tan from the sun. He held a cigar between his index and middle finger, and a gold-plated pocket watch was in the palm of his other hand.  
  
They went down to the top floor, past Jo's room, and onto her fellow floor mates- Swifty, Skittery, Specs, Kid Blink, and Mush. Each room was plain and comfortable, containing a bed, desk, bathroom, dresser, trashcan, and window overlooking the city. All the boys had their own trappings hanging from the wall and resting on the desks. She was introduced to each of the boys- newsies, as were most of the people boarding here.  
  
"You're not the only girl here," Kid Blink said. He had a patch over his eye. (Mush later told her that it's been there ever since they met him. "It was an accident when he was young," he told her. "From what?" she asked, curiously. "You don't want to know," Mush had assured her, grimacing.)  
  
"Yeah, Madeleine, Kate, and Andie room here part of the week. They're seamstresses who sometimes have to go on house calls to receive payment. Lennie works and lives in Mid Town, but comes over to drop off food and other things. Sarah doesn't room here, either," Skittery said.  
  
"Sarah Jacobs lives with her parents and brothers, David and Les," another newsie (she learned later his name was Snoddy) said from behind them. "Her brothers are here a lot, too. So she's kind of like family."  
  
"David and Les are our boys. They should be here, if not you can always count on them for dinner," Specs said. "Sarah's left for North Carolina. She'll be back, though."  
  
"Dinner starts in about a half-hour, so come when you hear the dinner call," Crutchy said, and he hobbled away. Jo wondered what he meant by 'dinner call', then walked up to her room, and fell into bed, sighing. She had a bed, food, a place to stay, and new friends- all in less than twenty- four hours. Her mind drifted, and she forced herself to relay thoughts of home to the back of her mind... Concord seemed far away. And she was getting used to it.  
  
She bathed quickly, let her hair down and placed it into a wavy, loose half- ponytail, and dressed. Embracing the casual style of her roommates, she wore a simple blue summer frock tied in the back. It was quite humid out, and so she decided to go down barefoot.  
  
After about fifteen minutes, she heard the shrill-sounding voice of one of the boys echo up from the foyer. "Newsies, newsies, get that lead outta your pants! Dinner time, boys! Grab a seat! Newsies, newsies! Get a move on! Dinner!" She smirked. Dinner call indeed.  
  
The mess hall and kitchen was larger than she had thought it would be. A fireplace was situated at the south end, where she stood. Antler décor adorned the wall. In the center of the wood floor was a large, long table with benches, where nearly one hundred rowdy boys had begun to be seated. On the table, plates of food were being loaded out. On the north end of the room was a quaint kitchen, pots and pans galore. An elderly woman with a tray of food walked in. She was tall and slim, with high cheekbones and clear blue eyes. Her hair was done up in a bun, and she was dressed in plain white and a gray apron.  
  
"Boys! Boys! Boys! Sit down, sit down, all of you!" she said loudly, in her New York brogue. Nearly everyone had flocked around the table and began to sit down, and so Jo looked very conspicuous. The woman looked up, and her stern eyes glazed over into warmth. She laid the tray down and walked over.  
  
"Oh, you must be Josephine," the woman said kindly.  
  
"Jo, yes. Are you the cook?" she inquired politely, still mentally wondering where she was to sit. The tables looked full.  
  
"Ha! I try not to be," the lady replied gaily. "Many of the boys do their own cooking. I just set the table," she said, winking. "I'm Julia. I take care of some of the cleaning, as well. I heard we had a new resident today, from one of the boys. It's nice to see another girl around the place, honestly. Maybe you can calm 'em down?" Julia said, tongue-in-cheek. Jo smiled.  
  
"I'll try. I won't be very successful, I don't think."  
  
"Well, it was nice to meet you, Jos-, I mean, Jo. Here, I'll find you a seat," she said, taking Jo's hand and walking over to the table. "Hey, gentlemen, can any of you make room?" she said above the uproar of the noise in the hall.  
  
Several heads turned, and Jo was assaulted by the gazes of nearly thirty young men. Their eyes were clear and seemed to be of every color, glittering in the dim light of the mess hall. They watched her, inspecting her, some noticing her for the first time. She suddenly felt very naked, but tried to hold her composure and look past their scrutiny. Julia scanned the crowd of silent faces, as no one made a start to accommodate Jo's company. Finally Julia sighed and lifted her arm, pointing at someone.  
  
"Cowboy! You gonna give this girl a seat or what?" she asked, her voice booming across the hall. Cowboy, Jo thought, apprehensive and at the same time, intrigued. There was a rustle of activity near the left side of the table, and then a tall, striking young man, with a tan complexion and hazel eyes stood forward and pushed his hair back. He was dressed simply, in pocketed olive green trousers (holes, patches, and all) and a beige shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, suspenders dangling next to his legs. He slouched over to one side.  
  
"Sure thing," he replied, his eyes shifting over to Jo. His voice was low and smooth, clear and unwavering, yet self-guarded. His gaze was neither inappropriate nor indifferent. His eyes wandered the soft curves of her face and the crook of her nose. Gray met brown as their eyes locked briefly. Then he pushed back the creeping sleeve on his left arm and held out his right hand for a shake. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, like he had a private joke she could only dream he would share with her.  
  
"Jack Kelly," he said in greeting. He swallowed and quirked his nose.  
  
"Jo March," she said. His grasp was warm, firm, and strong. They shook hands, and then Jack stepped back and jerked his head to the side.  
  
"Seat's this way. You hungry?" he asked. Jo nodded, following him to the left side of the table, where several small children had begun swiping food from the table.  
  
"Famished. Is there good food here?" Jo asked. "I feel like I haven't eaten in years."  
  
"The best," Jack replied assuredly. He was rough-around-the-edges, but moved with ease. There was a mystery in him, though- in his eyes- and Jo loved mysteries.  
  
Julia walked back into the mess hall. People had begun settling down and getting themselves seated. Everyone's plates were almost filled up, and there were only a few requests at the ends for a particular kind of food. Julia walked to the end of the table, and all of the boys bent their heads down, and closed their eyes, their hands folded politely. Jo figured this was tradition, and prepared for a lengthy prayer to their Lord for the food. The boys quieted down.  
  
Suddenly Julia hollered, "GRACE!" and everyone muttered, in a way that reminded Jo of a tribal war chant, "Grace!" and started shoveling their food. Jo opened her eyes and laughed in bewilderment. Jack turned to her, but made no response.  
  
  
  
He heard her voice echo off the walls of the foyer, then her quick footsteps as she skipped up the stairs and to her room, down the hall. He waited for the door to slam shut, but it didn't. He went back to his game of solitaire. He placed the cards down swiftly, and soon he discovered he'd lost again. Unbelievable, he couldn't even win against himself. And that's what counted, right? It was a perfect example of his odds.  
  
Jack usually spent the youngest part of the night out on the scaffolding, watching the city. It gave him peace of mind. Giving up on cards, he turned the knob to his door and opened it slightly, listening for any stray noise down the hall. There was the undercurrent of din from boys who were still up, and the grandfather clock in the foyer announcing it was nearly one o'clock. Other than that, it was silent. His eyes scanned the corridor, and rested on Jo's door. He regarded it, the smooth brown expanse of the wood, and was instantly attracted to the small crack of the door left ajar.  
  
Jack Kelly considered her an interesting girl. She looked about twenty, twenty-two years of age, and pretty, with a mane of brown hair that tumbled down her shoulder. He liked her, by no deciding of his own. Jo March had a mind of her own. There had been something sweetly youthful and kindred about that, yet he was instantly intimidated by her, and this irritated him. She was smart. Whatever she said came from some natural, pure place, which only made it more difficult for a smartass like him to tolerate her- and resist liking her.  
  
Experimentally, he took a step into the corridor, then down the hall. He stepped close, careful to make no noise, then looked in her room. She was clad in a white summer nightgown, which rested off the shoulder, but was cooler than a nightgown or bathrobe, though it didn't reveal much except for her arms, ankles, neck, and shoulder blades.  
  
She paced around the room, apparently lost in thought. There was something off about her behavior. It was something she hadn't been able to hide all night, and it was the first thing Jack noticed about her when their eyes met. Not her beauty, nor her willpower, nor her intelligence. Or the fact that she watched him curiously during dinner. It was that area of moody, cautious blue-gray feeling that restrained her from saying too much, and which said in itself that there was more to her than met the eye.  
  
A/N: Hey everyone! Thanks for reviewing! BTW, I'm also known around here as Magdalena Amaretto Watson, so if you see that name popping up, it's just moi! Hehe! Anyways, thanks for reading. This story has been in the works for about two years now, no joke. I've just been editing and re-editing and writing gradually over this time. I know it sounds kind of strange, the concept I mean, but I just got this crazy idea one day: what if Jo and Jack met? And it grew from there. So enjoy! I'll update as soon as I can. 


	3. Chapter Three

  
  
She stood on the balcony, overlooking the dark street, which was still buzzing with latent activity. Her long, brown hair trailed down her back, unrestrained by a bun or net. From her meditative perch, she could see the New York City Department of Public Charities and the Christian Herald Press Room. The area she was rooming in was just off of Main Street, where the noisy, suffocating factories and streets resided. The surrounding buildings were once red brick structures, but were charred brown and black with decay over the past century.  
  
It was humid and breezy, and she had kept the balcony door open, for she could barely breathe with it closed. She thought about the day, but her thoughts continually wound themselves back to what Jack had said to her at dinner. She was looking for something, but for what reason she was looking for it, or exactly what it was, she wasn't certain. Her thoughts were an eddy of memories, nameless faces, loved ones she had left behind, her dreams, and snippets of conversation.  
  
"Hello! Jo! Come over here. You too, Meg. It's dull as tombs around here."  
  
"Can't you at least marry someone amusing?"  
  
"We'll all grow up some day. We might as well know what we want."  
  
"I am not afraid. I can be brave like you. But I know I shall be homesick for you, even in Heaven."  
  
"I have loved you since the moment I clamped eyes on you. What could be more reasonable than to marry you?"  
  
"Go, and embrace your liberty. And see what wonderful things come of it."  
  
"If I weren't going to be a writer I'd go to New York and pursue the stage. Are you shocked?... "Very."  
  
The moon was milky-silver, and she could make out the endless rows of buildings and layers of skyscrapers until the edge of the water, and the slope of the Brooklyn Bridge looming far away. She was in an alien location- everything was fast and hard, always moving and rushing by, a far cry from sweet, still Concord- which seemed only to consist of her and her family, and their moments.  
  
"Penny for your thoughts."  
  
She turned.  
  
The smooth, husky voice of something dangerous and familiar cut through her misery and pain, attracting all her attention. Someone was partially concealed in the shadows, the dappled moonlight revealing his face and shoulder. His wavy, dirty blonde hair obscured his eyes, a clear hazel. He was dressed simply in a pair of loose-fitting pants. His skin was flushed smooth and tan, speckled light brown on his back with freckles from the sun. He appeared to have had trouble sleeping as well, for his eyes were enigmatic, dark, and yet patient. He had sharp, finely chiseled features, and thin, quiet lips. His presence halted all mental meandering, and she gulped.  
  
"You might say that," she said, watching him. "You're Jack Kelly," she stated simply. "What are you doing here?" she asked warily. Some horses pulling carriages and wagons filled with supplies trotted by.  
  
"I just wanted to check and see if you were all right," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Do you regret coming here?" She was astounded by his directness, but also found it appealing.  
  
Like a picture gallery, the people she loved appeared in her mind. Marmee, the mother she wished could hold her right now, who had held her in the past as she cried on her shoulder. Beth, the sister who would always be with her one way or another. Amy, the beauty of their family, whose paintings she had put up on the walls of her room here. Meg, and her family, and their sunshine. Laurie, who promised to always be there for her, and love her, in his own way. She shook her head to Jack.  
  
"No, I don't. Concord, New Hampshire was my home for every day until yesterday," she said. "I don't regret it for a second."  
  
He went and stood behind her. She could see the white beams of moonlights smoothing the edifices of the city. She could hear the hubbub of city life in the night, the restrained noise of the city slickers making their way home. They drank in the sight before them, knowing that in a few hours, the milky quietness would dissipate into the day.  
  
Jo cleared her throat. "Where did you want to go?" she asked suddenly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"If you had the opportunity to leave New York, where would you want to go?" As she said this, she rotated slightly, her eyes gazing into his. He was several inches taller than she was, so she had to tilt her head upward to see his face. But his hooded countenance and the ambiguity of his person precluded her every truly seeing his face at this time. And it wasn't because it was nighttime and the room was shrouded in shadow. There was a wall there, guarded by highly trained, loyal soldiers, who would do anything not to let something slip, even for just a moment.  
  
"Santa Fe," he said neutrally. He almost said, "You ever heard of it?" as he said to anyone who inquired, but he realized that she probably had. Her intelligence could be spotted a mile away. It was all in the eyes, he noted. Her sharp, perceptive, gray eyes that noticed everything, except, perhaps, what was right in front of them.  
  
"Cowboy, huh?" she asked mischievously. Jack grinned boyishly, blushing.  
  
"You ever been there?" he asked.  
  
"Never," she answered. "I should've gone a great many places. I should've been a great many things, I told someone once," she said simply, feeling suddenly increasingly vulnerable.  
  
"It happens to the best of us," he replied in his signature ambiguity. "You just get locked in."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"But you're not," he pointed out.  
  
"New Hampshire will always be calling me back," she admitted, turning to rest on the foot of the bed. There was a long pause before Jack spoke.  
  
"Yeah, but will you answer?" he asked, looking up and meeting her eye to eye, probing her with something deeper than just a superficial challenge. The mystery still shone through in his eyes.  
  
"I don't know," she admitted. She hated to be defenseless in front of him for some reason. Somehow he had found a way to sneak past her fortifications with his cocky charm still intact. He smiled slowly, and ever so slightly, grazed her arm with his fingers. Then he crossed in front of her and began to leave the room, as quietly as he had entered. "Wait, Jack," she said, feeling the part of the cotton where he had touched her. He turned sideways, giving her another glimpse of his sharp profile. Their eyes met again.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Jo lost her voice for a second.  
  
"Never mind. Go to sleep."  
  
She watched him walk back to his room without so much as another word or glance. Then she shut the door and fell asleep instantly.  
  
"What do you think of her?" He took a slow drag of his cigarette before exhaling the smoke. He flattened the thing with the heel of his boot on the ground. The garish yellow light from the lamp above illuminated the small surface of street they talked under. The night seemed more peaceful than usual. There were only a few city-slickers mucking around.  
  
"I like her."  
  
"Me too," piped in another.  
  
"I don't know. She's all right, I guess," the other said, shrugging off excess drink that dripped from his chin.  
  
"She's got everyone in such a fix. They all went 'ga-ga' when they saw her," another said.  
  
"Something about her though, you know? Something in her eyes."  
  
"She's certainly got Jack into quite the head-lock."  
  
"Yeah he was taken with her. But it's interesting; he usually goes for the easy ones. Like Jess, Tilly."  
  
"Dana."  
  
"Dana, thank you. Kate, Sarah...the list of conquests goes on."  
  
"Sarah wasn't easy," the one with the drink said as he took another gulp. "She wouldn't have been schmoozed by just anyone."  
  
"She melted into his charms like ice next to a fire. The Kelly charms. She's still taken with him, too. Even after years of this 'I need to find myself' shtick. She only said that to make him angry."  
  
"I'm glad they finally figured out their feelings. Put us out of our misery. I hated being in the middle of it."  
  
"Me too."  
  
"She'll be back from Carolina soon."  
  
"They're finally together again. Jack Kelly and Sarah Jacobs. The way it's meant to be."  
  
On this note, everyone said a quick "Here, here". There was a long silence. One of their faces turned fearful, and he took a thorough drag of his cigar before speaking.  
  
"When does Jack have to pay up?" he asked. The burden heaved onto them, and for a few minutes they forgot their joviality.  
  
"The next couple of days. He'll be heading back to Brooklyn. Kingfish will want to speak to him. He'll have his head if he doesn't pay the one from last time, too."  
  
"That wasn't his fault."  
  
"Doesn't matter. Kingfish is the boss." This was the final word, as no one could dispute that fact. They took sips of their drinks, puffs of their cigarettes. Then the slouching forms of Spot Conlon, Itey, Ten-Pin, Snitch, and Racetrack stalked out of the lamplight and into the darkness. 


	4. Chapter Four

  
  
Jo could hear the New York City noise bustling outside her window, and chided herself on her late wake. The rest of the city had been up for hours. And the House, she thought, the corner of her mouth twitching. She had been here a week already. She heard the loud, unruly laughter and voices of the rest of her floor mates. She put on her robe, and closed the door, messing with her hair all the while. She hadn't missed breakfast, but it seemed everyone was taking their orders to go. She followed the sound of laughter and conversation outside.  
  
Everyone was gathered in the back entrance of the kitchen, rather than in the mess hall), which lead out to an alley that was ushered from the main road. The sunlight saturated every inch of the city. The boys were smoking, talking, laughing, eating, and playing just outside the door, just adjacent to a small park the rested in the cul-de-sac of the alleyway. Trees with green leaves, tinted gold-yellow with summer's paintbrush swayed in the gentle breeze.  
  
The alleyway was home to several people in the neighborhood. People there hung their laundry out to dry on string that went from one window to another. The laundry hung just above the trees, framing this pretty picture. Boxes and crates were stacked high just next to the kitchen door. The boys clutched their money and cigarettes, partaking in impromptu games of poker and rummy after their meal, just before the second heat of their newspaper selling.  
  
"You mean I missed the first selling?" Jo asked Snitch in disbelief. He shrugged and grinned.  
  
"All the big shots come out early. If you want to catch them, you have to be there. Some of them oblige. Most don't. We still rely on that 'some', though. Just in case..." He took a big chomp of a biscuit he was holding. Jo took a sip of her apple juice.  
  
"Just in case of what?" she asked, her brow furrowing. Snitch shot her a look. She chose to ignore it. Her interest was piqued.  
  
"Let's just say it wouldn't be pretty for us poor kids if we didn't sell," he said. There was something in his hazel glare this time. It was something of fear, a warning, a threat. Masked by uncertainty. She blinked. She watched Snitch curiously as he turned to take another bite, then joined Racetrack teach the little ones the difference between a flush and a full house.  
  
"Don't mind Snitch," a calm voice assured her from her left. She turned, still eating. It was David. He had a small croissant in his left hand, and a biscuit lathered with butter in his right. He seemed confused as to which one he should choose to eat first. The butter-topped biscuit won out, and he sunk his teeth into it.  
  
"I don't," Jo said.  
  
"Where will you go after this. After you get a job, and find something stable?"  
  
"I guess I haven't really thought it out that far," she said. David grinned.  
  
"You should. You remind me of me, many years ago. My family and I moved here from Connecticut. We had every intention of going back. We ended up staying here. We lived right around the corner. My parents loved it here, they had stable jobs, friends, everything. Then my dad got injured in a factory accident, so they fired him. Sarah, Les, and I had to work on our own. We had to pay for ourselves and our family. That's when we met Jack and the newsies."  
  
Jo's ears pricked up at the mention of Jack. He wasn't out there with the rest of them, eating and hanging around.  
  
"Where's Jack now?" Jo asked.  
  
"Still selling, probably. He's the most extensive of all of us."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, a lot of us just stay in one area, but Jack covers more ground. That's how he knows the city so well. And he's got, you know, responsibilities and things that keep him busy," David replied. Jo scrunched up her nose, still puzzled.  
  
"Responsibilities?" she wondered out loud. David looked at her awhile before answering.  
  
"He keeps to himself a lot. A lot more than he used to..." he trailed off. They sat in silence for awhile, before Jo spoke again.  
  
"Where are they now, your parents?" Jo asked quietly, changing the subject.  
  
"They're still here. We do the best we can for them. We go to see them every few days or so," he said. He seemed a bit perturbed by this. He apparently wished he could do more for them. "The point I was trying to make earlier, when I said that you reminded me of myself when I was younger... I think you should think about why it is that you ran."  
  
"From Concord. Do you want to know why I came here?" she asked skeptically.  
  
"Ah, not until you do. I have to get ready to go back out. Have a good morning, Jo," David said suddenly, hopping off the crate he was sitting on, and walked back into the kitchen.  
  
"...and that's the first thing you gotta learn, headlines don't sell papes, newsies sell papes," David said to Jo. She got the distinct feeling that this was a common phrase, because everyone around her nodded their heads emphatically and repeated this under their breath.  
  
Another week had passed, with Jo regularly observing the newsies' routes about the city.  
  
"All right. But...I'm not actually going to sell with you guys, right? Not that I didn't appreciate your little paper-selling tutorial," she said. David fixed her a smug smile.  
  
"You're not scared, Jo, are you?" he asked. Les snickered, and Mush smiled. Jo's eyes widened in horror.  
  
"What? No," she protested defiantly. "But I'm just not a newsie!" she objected.  
  
"You said you needed a job," Boots reasoned with a twinkle in his eye. She shot him a death look, and David glanced back at her.  
  
"Perfect, then. Here, take ten of my papes. Then, just remember, you gotta win them over. It's not about the headlines, it's about the way you sell," David said.  
  
"But, David-"she said as he shoved a small stack of newspapers into her hands. "I can't do this alone! Can't I just watch you guys?" she asked weakly.  
  
"Jo, you'll be fine," Specs said. "If you run into trouble, just use your imagination. We don't always get the satisfaction of getting good headlines. But forget that. Just try to sell as many as you can," he said. Jo narrowed her eyes a bit. It was all coming into focus.  
  
"What are you saying? You mean, make up a headline?" she asked. This was unbelievable. What if the person caught her? Was the coin she earned worth it? A bunch of the newsies that she'd walked out onto the street with had already dispersed, announcing everything out-of-the-ordinary as loudly as they could, carrying the banner high above their heads. Jo turned back to Specs, Boots, David, and Les, giving them each accusing glances. "Lying isn't exactly one of my favorite pastimes."  
  
"It ain't lying; it's just improving the truth a little."  
  
She turned.  
  
Clear, impossibly beautiful, complex hazel eyes stared back at her. She sighed helplessly, drowning in something incomprehensible. Jack was approaching from amidst the hustle and bustle of the street, a red bandanna tied around his neck. He swiped a hand over his brow, which had been glistening with sweat. He was dressed simply in tan shirt, cuffs rolled up to his elbow, over a white shirt underneath, and khaki slacks. A small stock of newspapers was at his side. He was careless and attitude-ridden, but his presence did something severe to her insides. She fixed her game face on and answered him.  
  
"Cute euphemism," she said. "I'm not lying for money. I'm not that desperate," she said stiffly. It was most likely more antagonistic a comment than she meant to say.  
  
"Listen, Miss High and Mighty, some of us don't have that luxury. Thanks for rubbing it in our faces," Jack retorted, raking a hand through his hair.  
  
He silently counted the number of papers he had left, and blew hot air out through his mouth. The heat was getting to him. He'd been up since dawn, and it had been a hot morning. The long-mile circuit route from Brooklyn, to Queens, not including the "appointment" he made on Kingfisher's behalf, had made him tired and irritated, and he still had twenty papers left to sell. It didn't help that the walking encyclopedia had decided to make her appearance just then.  
  
Jo felt a heat beneath her eyelids. "Listen," she retorted, then stopped herself. She saw the guys watch her and Jack's lightning exchange with some interest. "I'll get out of your way," she said quickly, descending off the curb into the crowded streets. Venders were selling produce across from her. It felt good to be outside, even though the heat was stifling.  
  
Jo crossed into the side street, trailing away to the end of the large piazza, spotting people who looked like they'd want a newspaper. All the while her brain was actively frenetic. Soon she'd make a plan to get a job, and move out. The more time she spent at the Lodging House, the more attached she'd become to relying on others. She didn't need them, she tried to convince herself. There was opportunity everywhere. She just had to open her eyes to it. She bucked up her courage, and cleared her throat.  
  
"Newspapers! Newspapers! Hot off the presses, get 'em now!" 


	5. Chapter Five

"What was that all about?" Racetrack asked him. The former was smoking a cigar. The intricately patterned outsides of it rested between his middle and index finger. He took drags of it lazily.  
  
Jack shrugged. David walked over, concerned. He, Jack, and Racetrack watched Jo get lost in the crowd.  
  
"You okay, Jack?" David asked. His blue eyes probed his friend's thoughts. Jack evaded his gaze, but David was onto something. He wouldn't let go until he knew what was going on. Considering it was David, he'd figure it out sooner rather than later.  
  
"Yeah, I guess so," Jack said.  
  
"What's going on..." David asked, gesturing toward the general area Jo had disappeared into. Jack fixed his eyes straight ahead, not facing David.  
  
"Nothing. Why would anything be going on?" Jack asked. His tone betrayed nothing, but Jack Kelly, a.k.a. Francis Sullivan, was a master of embellishment, concealment, and unemotional reactions, and being around him for so long it was easy for David to see through him.  
  
"Because you looked like a bomb just went off in your skull, Sullivan."  
  
"The name's Kelly," was Jack's automated response.  
  
"Sure it is," David said. "Did you tell her it was?" Jack gave David a look that was a mixture of false confusion and anger.  
  
"Why should she know?" he asked, pointedly crossing his arms in front of his chest and looked straight ahead again.  
  
"Because you're slack-jawed, Jack," David quipped brightly. "Tell me, is it just the fact that she continues to challenge you with her intellect, or is it your gargantuan-sized ego that keeps getting in the way of having a normal conversation with her?"  
  
David said all of this very fast. Jack hurled back around at this, whipping his head back, the action very violent and spurred by the fact that it was, well...true. David's eyes were twinkling. He knew he was right. Jack grunted, attempting to dismiss his statements.  
  
"I've had a normal conversation with her," Jack said.  
  
"Oh really?"  
  
"Yes, really."  
  
"She's good friend material, Jack."  
  
"Thanks Dave, I didn't know I had to get your approval to make friends," he said dryly. David chose to ignore that one.  
  
"She needs friends, Jack. People like us."  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"Maybe you could invite her to dinner with us at Tibby's on Saturday. You, me, a few more of the guys, Jo, and Sarah."  
  
Jack's pulse quickened and he returned back to reality for an instant.  
  
He met David's eyes. Damn. Sarah. David was smarter than he looked, of course. That was a personal dig. He didn't say it, but he meant it. It was a "Fuck with my sister, and you inevitably fuck with me." David was simultaneously hinting at a relationship between Jack and Jo, defending his sister's honor, and monitoring Jack's friend-making skills.  
  
"So she's back from Carolina, huh?"  
  
"Yeah. Arrives tomorrow."  
  
Sarah had wanted to talk to him the night before she left, and he'd promised to come up to her room. He didn't, of course. A sick feeling started to meld inside his stomach, one that he couldn't fight. Saturday...I'll talk to her before dinner.  
  
He raked a hand through his dirty-blonde, greasy hair, and tried to focus.  
  
But the expression on David's face when he mentioned Sarah stuck in his brain, and he couldn't force it out.  
  
She had done it. She sold all ten of her papers within fifteen minutes of receiving them from David. That would have to go in some sort of record book. Jo was hot and hungry, but beaming and rosy.  
  
Instead of heading back to them, she continued to walk down the street, thinking of possible job options. Working for the newspaper seemed like the obvious choice, and she'd be lying if she said it didn't sound tempting. She looked around her at the craziness of the New York City street and brushed her mahogany-brown hair out of her eyes. She wasn't in Concord anymore. Maybe it was time for some more changes to take place. She remembered the conversation she had with Laurie one time...about what she'd do if she weren't a writer...what was it...she'd want to be an actress, pursue the stage...The idea was incredibly spontaneous and wild, but also amazingly appealing. What would her family do if they found out she was a full- fledged thespian, astounding audiences and fellow actors alike with her renditions of all the famous, dramatic plays of the world?  
  
She'd been wandering with her thoughts swimming, and had paid little attention to where she'd been walking. It was in the center of town. A small park resided in the center, surrounded by a spiked-iron gate that circled a statue of Horace Greeley. Directly across from this was the imposing building of Mr. Joseph Pulitzer's World, and the headlines written on a large chalkboard. Newsies ran in this area, clutching their papers.  
  
Jo eyed the building for a minute. Would she be happy in there, chasing a story, creating magic on the printing press, and editing to her heart's delight? Wasn't it everything she'd ever wanted? It was. But she suddenly felt downtrodden with anything related to the former Jo. The former Jo was passive and dejected, waiting around for some kind of miracle to sweep her off her feet. The former Jo was still living in that attic in Concord, writing fairy tales so her sisters could read them. No bones about it: the former Jo was miserable. And she wouldn't be that person anymore.  
  
Beaming up at the World building, she turned on her heel and headed in another direction. The very act was empowering. It was liberating. She was going to be an actress.  
  
A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys! Sorry I couldn't update sooner, but I was on a trip. I might be busy in the next few days/weeks, but I will update! Just be patient, and keep tuning in. 


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